


Star-Crossed but Love Bound

by TheSparksofMagic



Category: Grease (1978), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Complete, F/M, Fluff, Humor, JeanMarco Week, JeanMarco Week 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSparksofMagic/pseuds/TheSparksofMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my JeanMarco week entries. Summary for each on individual chapters. Fluff and angst are both abundant. </p><p>Jean and Marco may be unlucky in some life-times, but in others, they remain blissful in their happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin Again/Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my collection of shortish jeanmarco fics for the JeanMarco week 2015! I was a bit late in starting, so I'm having to catch up, but damn am I enjoying doing so.  
> The themes are:  
> Day 1: Begin Again or Dream On  
> Day 2: Paint or Electric  
> Day 3: Hand to Hold or Vigil  
> Day 4: Warrior or Call My Name  
> Day 5: Apologies or Tearstained  
> Day 6: Summer Loving or Raindrops  
> Day 7: Gifts or Regrets

_  
_

_It wasn't meant to end like this._

_He wasn't supposed to die before me, without me._

_I wasn't meant to let him go without me coming with him._

_Without telling him._

_Telling him that I loved him. I loved him._

_I loved him I loved him I loved him I loved himIlovedhimIlovedhimILOVEDHIM-_

  


_**Love him.** _

  


  


  


Jean sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving and sweat clammy on his skin. White knuckles grasped at white sheets, twisting the material between pale fingers, colour washed out from the dawn light streaming in through cracked open curtains. After a few seconds of heaving pants, Jean tipped his head back slowly, where it banged against the top of the metal headboard with a thud. The tension coiled around every muscle slipped away. Stiff fingers unclenched from their death grip on the sheets as he closed his eyes and blew out a breath in a long, low sigh.

It was terribly lonely, being without Marco. He'd have wrapped tanned arms around Jean's lean torso, calming his still fluttering heart with a press of warm hands against his pulse. He'd have pulled Jean back under the sheets with whispered promises of safety and kindness and sleep. He'd have brushed butterfly kisses along trembling shoulder blades, dry lips a comfortable familiarity. The nightmares never ceased in any lifetime, no matter how many kisses were burned into his skin, but at least the kiss brands lessened the pain.

But it was inevitable that Marco would go first and leave him alone to face his nightmares. He always did.

They may have been soulmates but Jean was convinced that they were star-crossed. In any lifetime since the first, in the era of the Titans, it was always Marco that bit the bullet before Jean - often literally. This lifetime had been easy, relatively speaking. A simple car accident: one second, he was alive, the next, Marco was nothing more than a memory. It wasn't always. Wars, being hanged, succumbing to cancer, the range of deaths were long and painful. But they found invariably each other again, once Jean had died as well.

In his bed, Jean felt a prickling burn behind his eyes. He squeezed them tighter, but hot tears rolled down his cheeks. The cool air stung as they dried. Jean brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, digging his hands into his hair and pulling at the longer, lighter strands on the top.

This life had taken Marco away from him far too soon. He hadn't even told him-

Hadn't had the chance to say-

Hadn't had the time to hold him and touch him or even know his new (but still wonderfully freckled and lovely and forgiving) self properly. He just had to hope that the next life would be kinder and that they could spend more than fleeting weeks together. Hopefully years would pass before death would take Marco again.

Jean whispered against his own skin, trying desperately to ignore the lack of splattered freckles decorating his knees, praying to whoever was listening for a better beginning and a nicer ending. He knew it was pointless to dream for the impossible; after all, he screamed and cursed and wailed after every one of Marco's deaths for _a better life next time, please, just once_... He would dream on anyway.

  


"I love you Marco, I love you, I love you, I love you..."


	2. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's as hot as balls, and Jean decides to paint his house.  
> Marco is a thirsty fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, basically.

The temperature had soared over the weekend, from touching on warm to pavement melting. Marco felt, much like his poor driveway, sticky with sweat and as if his skin was trying its best to burn itself off his flesh. Even at only ten in the morning. It was not a good feeling. However, with hot weather did come the more than pleasant side effect of Jean, his long term best friend and recently acquired boyfriend, feeling the need to strip off his t-shirts. All the time.

Marco was stretched out flat on top of the hammock at the shaded end of Jean's small garden, watching shamelessly from behind mirrored sunglasses as the young man lugged multiple drums of paint from inside the house out into the sunshine. A veritable storm of grunts and swearwords spilt from Jean's lips curved Marco's own into a wry smile as he contemplated helping his boyfriend, then decided that drooling over the way Jean's back and upper arm muscles flexed as he bent over to pick said paint cans up was a much more effective use of his time.

Jean had decided in a fit of spontaneity that his house "was boring as fuck and even goddamn peeling" and "needed to be brightened up", so had promptly dragged Marco into various home-ware stores attempting to find cheap house paint. When the four drums of a pale green paint had turned up in the corner of the garden section, under some broken tarpaulins and a net, Jean hadn't been able to resist the lure of low prices and bought them all. Frustrated at Jean for buying quite so much paint, Marco had left Jean to do all the work himself, and was perfectly happy watching from his hammock.

The drums were a considerable size, at least 2 foot high and just as wide. Marco spluttered with laughter as Jean wrenched the lid off each drum with a crowbar and was splattered every time with green paint all over his bare chest and legs. He didn't even flinch by the final drum. Instead, he just grinned at Marco and waved, instantly making Marco suspicious. But he just turned back to the brick wall, picking up the roller from the floor and dipping it into the first drum before beginning to paint. Marco relaxed.

Hours passed quickly, and the humidity in the air rose.

And rose.

And rose.

By three in the afternoon the temperature was almost unbearable for Marco, who had stripped down to his boxers the previous hour in an attempt to cool down. Jean was still painting in matching attire. He had done the whole wall, except for a small patch at the top which he found that no matter how much he stretched, he couldn't reach. The ladder was at its tallest point, he had opened out the roller pole as far as it opened and he was balanced on precarious tiptoes, roller just about held with his fingertips. All he needed was an extra inch or two. He knew exactly where he could find them, but asking Marco to move now would require a special kind of persuasion. Jean could do that kind.

"Heeeeeey, Marco babe," he drawled, "How're you doing down there? Feelin' okay?" He dropped the roller onto the grass below and slunk down the ladder, rolling his spine in a way he knew Marco loved as he did so.

Marco raised his eyebrows at the sight of Jean's shoulder blades tightening and stretching under the sun-kissed skin. "Fine, if a bit hot. Are you done yet?"

Jean reached the bottom of the ladder and leant on the side with one arm resting oh-so-casually above his head, the other playing with the waistband of his shorts. Still covered in tacky paint, he lowered his eyelids and smirked. "Babe, can't I have a break to appreciate the lovely weather with my gorgeous boyfriend?"

"You never answered my question." Marco looked over the rims of his sunglasses from where they had slipped a little down the bridge of his nose.

"And?"

"So, that's a no then, you aren't done.

Jean pouted, then pushed off the ladder and sauntered over to Marco, who had discarded his sunglasses and was looking more than a little red in the face. (It wasn't sunburn.) With green fingers, he brushed a path from Marco's bottom lip to the centre of his chest in a slow, suggestive motion, feeling the snag of his lip and the hitch in his breath when Jean flattened his palm and licked his own lips with a dry tongue. He peeled it off, smiling crookedly at the green mark left behind: a hand print brand that said, Jean's.

"Couldn't you help me?" Jean crooned, "I'll make it up to you, promise."

Marco swallowed. "Yeah... Yeah alright. I'll help."

On a sudden impulse, Jean lunged forward and kissed Marco with parted lips, eyes closed and hands flying up to grasp at his shoulders (he could feel the paint smearing across freckled skin and smiled into the kiss at the thought). Marco swore softly against his mouth and tugged on Jean's lower lip, sending a shock wave through to his core. They pulled apart and Jean's eyelids fluttered open, taking in the ardent hunger blazing through Marc's dark eyes with a mix of amusment and elation.

"Okay, yeah," he mused, "I'll give you a reason now instead. Alright with you?"

Marco huffed out a laugh and shot upright, dragging Jean across the grass towards the house.

"More than, Jean, more than."

 


	3. Hand to Hold/Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean contemplates night whilst cuddling with Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this can be read as a prequel to Day 1's entry, but set about 2 weeks before, or just read stand-alone, or just as a whole 'nother lifetime in which they live happy forever in the reincarnation cycle.

Three in the morning was not an uncommon time for Jean to find himself awake. He didn't particularly mind, because night was everything he hated about day. In fact, he found himself enjoying his 3am jaunts most nights. The complete silence was extraordinarily peaceful, as there were no bird calls and no echoes of car noises from neighbouring streets – most people were asleep by that time of night. Jean found the darkness comforting in a way he couldn't quite fathom. Even the blackest shadows couldn't hide anything from his eyes, but he could hide away from the prying gaze of the rest of the world.

But this night was even better than usual, because he wasn't alone in his bedroom. Instead, Marco's warm body was wrapped around his own, limbs relaxed and limp from his position draped across Jean's torso. The sound of steady breathing calmed Jean's nerves, which were sitting on a knife point during the normal hours of the day. Marco's chest rose and fell in a steady wave.

Jean smiled softly. He'd found him, so young this time. Barely 18, Marco was strong and confident and comforting, and had enclosed Jean in a bear hug that crushed the air from his lungs the minute he had lain eyes on him. Jean closed his own eyes, remembering the smell of Marco's aftershave ingrained into the fabric of his shirt as he had buried his nose into Marco's broad chest. They had both been crying, loud, splashy tears, and when they had pulled away just to look at one another's face, both had started bawling harder.

It had been a single week since they had met again. Jean firmly believed that it was the best week of his current life time.

A sleepy sigh emanated from beside Jean and he turned back to face Marco, who had shuffled onto his side. His dark eyes were still closed, but were twitching subtly beneath his eyelids. His mouth curved into a frown.

“You're awake? Are you okay?” Marco murmured, his voice only just loud enough for Jean to hear. The silence was barely broken. Jean laid his palm against a freckled cheek, the flat of his thumb rubbing a gentle caress into the faint stubble on the underside of Marco's lower jaw. He could look at Marco for hours. He would watch him like a benevolent hawk to protect him from any harm. He would _not_ lose him again for a long time.

“Just woke up, is all. Go to sleep.” Jean pressed a light kiss to Marco's forehead and his eyes cracked open. The hand previously resting across Jean's waist lifted to grasp at the hand Jean had cradling Marco's cheek, and their fingers laced together in an easy, familiar manner. He then shifted their clasped palms under the sheets, turning lay on his other side, so that Jean's torso was flush against Marco's back. Their arms intertwined across Marco's hip.

“Go to sleep with me, Jean. I'll always be here, okay, and I'll never leave you now I've got you again. Not without saying goodbye.”

Jean believed him. He just hoped that he would have Marco's larger hand to hold for a long while yet.  


	4. Warrior/Call my Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is going to be eaten by a titan.

_Swirls of colour erupt behind my eyelids._  
They're twisting, undulating, oscillating.  
I'm blind, blind to everything but the flashes of red.  
Red like splashes of blood.  
I'm bleeding.  
I can't breathe, it's suffocating, it's deep, it's **horrible** -  
Jean? **Jean? Are you there? Help me...  
Please...**

  
  


Marco screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and just couldn't. Stop. Screaming. He clawed in desperation at the giant fingers wrapped around his torso, watching his blades clatter to the ground with a flash of dull silver as they fell from his grip. No noise from them smashing to shards reached his ears; he was too far off the ground, the sound of wind roaring instead as he was whipped through the air by the titan's running.

The places were the titan's skin touched his own were boiling from the heat emanating from the furnace in its core. His eyes were streaming from the sting of wind, but he forced them wide open, desperate to see where he was, to see if there was anyone to save him, anyone to notice that he wasn't already dead (as unlikely as it seemed). The red tiles of roofs blurred into rusty smears as he blew past, but in the distance motion seemed to hang still in time. The city was still being swarmed. Soldiers blitzed in and out of his view like dust motes on a summer's day. Titans crumpled to the ground every so often, seemingly at random, but to Marco's trained eye, he could see the trails left by the gas canisters that signalled the soldiers, the warriors willing to sacrifice all to save just a few.

Marco laughed hysterically, his voice raw from screaming. How jaded, how bitter he had become.

He almost sounded like Jean.

But in the second he thought the words, he felt the tight grip around his middle slacken and he began to free-fall towards the floor at a speed that rattled every bone and shook every organ. He started to scream again, but the sound was broken and guttural. Rational thoughts were trying to force themselves to the forefront of his mind ( _the titan was killed, someone killed it, someone's there, someone's there, they have to help me they must see me falling_ _ **they must see me**_ ) but the only thought that made it to his mouth was-

"Jean-"

before the breath was slammed out of his lungs. Arms with corded muscles looped around his middle where the titan's fingers had been before and Marco felt his breath hitch in a brief flare of panic. He realised the instant that the thought entered his head that he was being an idiot, that he had been fucking saved. Someone had saved his life. He was _alive_.

"Yeaaaaaaaaah!" Marco whooped in glee. He turned to face his saviour, the perfect warrior who felled the titan without it killing him at the same time, the 3DMG master who was keeping them both stable in the air whilst blasting onwards faster than any titan could possibly run.

A familiar chuckle rasped beside Marco's ear and his heart jumped into his throat.

"Jean?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe what his heart told him was the truth. He hadn't caught a glimpse of his saviour's face yet from the angle he was dangling by, but he knew, he knew.

"'Lo, freckles. That's my name, and if you want, you can scream it like you did earlier." Jean's voice was a breath of fresh air in the smoke of the panic. Even the teasing couldn't stop a huge grin from breaking out across his lips.

"God, I could kiss you right now."

"Well, maybe when we stop. Don't want us crashing now do I, after I just risked my butt to save yours."

The pit of Marco's stomach felt like it had just fallen away. Were any of his organs going to stay where they should, he thought with another hysterical burst of laughter. Matching laughter came from Jean, and when they landed on top of the Trost wall, far away from any of the other soldiers, from any of the other brave warriors, Marco groaned Jean's name again and again and again against his lips.

 


	5. Apologies/Tearstained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even during a revolution in which they fight for different sides, Jean and Marco are still lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this can be read as part of the reincarnation AU all of these fics make up, or it doesn't have to be... (I mean, for extra sads it really should be.)  
> This was originally going to be set during the French revolution, hence the bit of french in the middle, but that doesn't come across particularly well, so it can just be a generic revolution.

_I'm sorry._  
_I'm so sorry._  
_Please forgive me for not being strong enough._  
_I was too weak to leave my post._  
_To fight for what I truly believed in._  
_For that,_  
_For leaving you alone,  
_ _I am sorry._

 

Jean swore that every muscle in his body was frozen. He couldn't move for the paralysing fear running through him. The sounds of the battle raged around him, but he heard nothing, only the frantic beating of his heart. Gunfire zipped over his head from where he was crouched behind the relative safety of a pile of empty gunpowder crates, as much as he could possibly be safe in an area surrounded by the rebels. Jean himself was no rebel, but a leader of the defensive force against the battles sweeping through the streets. Nevertheless, he did not believe that the side he bore the uniform of was in the right in this war; he was simply too scared to join the rebelling army, for fear of his family being the ones who would pay for his betrayal.

Jean couldn't really care less about the political games played by the aristocracy and the rebellion. All he wanted was one chance to kiss his lover, just once, when he wouldn't be beaten or judged. He didn't care what leadership or government was in place, as long as he and his lover could be safe. Of course, the likelihood was that he would never even see his lover again, being that they had been part of the force storming the inner city, trying to breach the walls of the castle.

The night before, they had met in secret, for what they both knew (but neither wanted to admit) was the last time. Their union had been passionate, filled with deep kisses and declarations of undying love, _pour toujours et à jamais_ , forever and always. As they had moved together, Jean driving himself deeper and deeper under his lover's beautiful, calloused, sun-kissed skin, neither had been able to hold back their tears either, and had climaxed simultaneously with Jean crying into his lover's freckled chest and his lover sobbing tears and praises into Jean's hair.

The rest of the dwindling hours of night were spent laying side by side, staring into one another's eyes and praying for a miracle to save them both. Some hours were light-hearted, filled with jokes and tickling and play-wrestling leading to smile stretched kisses. Other, which appeared more frequently the closer the threat of dawn became, were almost silent. Jean smoothed away his lover's frowns and chased after each teardrop with butterfly kisses.

In his self improvised barricade, Jean squashed the urge to break down again. He had cried enough and he wouldn't cry again. Gripping the handle of his gun in a shaky fist, Jean could feel the engraved initials, MB, carved out by his lover in a moment of madness.

"I'll find you Marco," he vowed, "Even if I have to find your corpse."

As he burst out of his hiding place in a rain of gunfire, the rebel soldiers were too preoccupied with dodging bullets to notice that their assailant was red-eyed and wet cheeked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Day 6's entry will be light and funny, I promise. It's a Grease AU.


	6. Summer Loving/Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled:  
> SPARKS ACCIDENTALLY WROTE GREASE OOPS
> 
> Marcy met a boy at the beach.  
> Jean met a girl at the beach.  
> Wait, do they go to the same school??? Mind = blown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised something non-angsty, and this is like, the cheesiest, fluffiest thing I have ever written ever. It's a Grease AU, but wow I can't even keep to the Grease story line.  
> Marcy is fem!Marco  
> Amelia is fem!Armin  
> Eren's brother is male Mikasa because I couldn't come up with a decent name.

“Awh, man, I wanna hear what Jeany-boy did at the beach!” Connie crowed from the row of bleachers below Jean himself. At Connie's words, the rest of the T-Birds started talking to Jean all at once, hopping over seats and bars to ruffle his hair and ask inane questions.

“Yeah, come on, Jean, what did ya' do?”

“Meet any girls?”

Jean sighed, running his hand through his hair to re-spike what had fallen out of its meticulously styled, I-so-rolled-out-of-bed-this-hot look.

“Eh, it was nothin'.” he grunted.

Connie raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Jean, nothing.”

Eren, sprawled across two seats a few from where Jean was sat, laughed. “Man, tell us about the chick, then. Did ya' get in her panties?”

The chorus of encouragements rose up again.

“Come on, Jean-”

“Yeah, tell us 'bout the girl!”

“Was she hot?”

  
  


“Say, what did you do this summer, Marcy?” Amelia asked, looking over from where she was plaiting Sasha's hair.

Marcy blushed and bit her lip before answering.

“Oh, I spent most of it at the beach. I met... a _boy_ there.”

Ymir cackled, perched on the edge of the table with her arm around her girlfriend, Christa. “So you're telling me you aren't gonna do anything because of some guy you met, at a beach?”

Marcy spun around, eyebrows furrowed in faint irritation. “It was something, I dunno, something special.”

Ymir snorted. “There ain't no such thing as a special boy. You wonder at all why I gave up on them altogether?”

“He was really romantic...” the anger faded out of Marcy's voice as she spoke, and she gazed up at the clouds gathering dark in the sky, daydreaming.

  
  


Jean tipped his head back to look at the grey sky and folded his arms behind his head. “Ah, do you really wanna know all the horny details?”

“Are you telling me,” Eren demanded, “that you actually got with a girl?”

“Oi,” Eren's brother smacked him around the side of the head with a well placed fist, berating him with an eye roll, “Let the man speak.”

“Alright, alright, I'll tell you, yeah?” Jean yawned. “Now quit yappin' and let me tell ya' what happened.”

“It was just summer lovin'. It was so good, though, she was so pretty...”

  
  


Marcy sighed. “It was a summer love, pure and simple. Gosh, it all happened so fast, it's practically a blur..”

  
  


“She was basically crazy for me,” Jean bragged.

  
  


“He was just so cute, it was almost unreal,” Marcy said, giggling as all of the other girls turned to face her, 5 sets of hands resting on cheeks and 10 elbows perched on the table tops.

  
  


“Tell me more, Jean, you can't just leave it at that...” whined Reiner. Jean leant back to the tall blonde standing above him and grinned. “Did you get very far with her?”

  
  


“Tell me _more_ , Marcy,” Sasha pleaded, “Like, did he have a _car_?” Her eyes were gleaming and she was so close to Marcy that she could feel Sasha's hair on her skin as it blew in the gentle breeze.

  
  


“Chill, Reiner. She was swimming in the water, but then, she must've gotten a cramp or something. She just, whoosh, went under.” Jean mimed with his arms a girl dropping like a stone into the sea water.

  
  


“He was running around in his swim trunks by the surf. Definitely showing off!” Marcy's words even made Ymir chuckle, and she didn't quite know whether to be pleased or worried.

  
  


“So, because I'm a lifeguard and all, I saved her life! She nearly _drowned_.”

  
  


“He pretended to help me, and starting splashing around.”

  
  


All the guys roared with laughter and thrust their hips crudely. Connie jumped up to Jean's row, sitting on Eren's feet to talk to him face to face. Eren started to complain, but shut up quickly when Connie moved onto his stomach instead.

“Did she put up a fight?” he hinted, waving around an invisible sword (or what Jean hoped he meant to be a sword).

  
  


“Was it love?” Christa asked Marcy quietly.

“Not... not at first sight, no, but it sure felt like it afterwards...” said Marcy wistfully.

  
  


“Jean, this is good an' all, but did you actually get with her? Or did you insist on dating her first?” asked Reiner. With a groan, Jean nodded.

“Yeah, I took her bowling down the arcade first, she's kinda traditional. But I made out with her under the docks afterwards though!”

  
  


“He wasn't quite the gentleman, although he did take me out for a walk, and paid for my lemonade. We, er, we stayed out until 10.”

“Wow.” Ymir muttered dryly, “That's really late. He sounds like a drag.”

“He got real, um, friendly,” Marcy blushed even more than she had during the summer, so much so that her freckles were almost invisible under the red flush. “He held my hand all the time.”

  
  


“She was pretty damn friendly when she pulled me down in the sand.” Jean squirmed around in his seat, mimicking a girl's voice; “Ah, ugh, _Jeaaan_ , aaaaaaah, ah, oh baby _harder_ pleeeeease~” The chaos that caused attracted the attention of some of the other students, who looked around in confusion at them, which only served to make them laugh harder.

  
  


“He was so young, a few months younger than me: than us. Only just turned 18!” Marcy fanned her face with her hand. “He was still cute though, and I liked his haircut.”

  
  


“She was so good...” Jean's voice trailed off a little, his sentence hanging. A pointed cough from Eren brought him back down to Earth. Jean grinned wider, pulling on the roots of his hair. “She liked the undercut. Kept running her hands through it, and pulled pretty tight when things got rough, if you get what I mean.”

  
  


“It must've ended okay though, right?” Amelia looked Marcy up and down. “You don't look heartbroken.”

“It was over by the end of the summer.” said Marcy with an air of finality.

  
  


“I mean, I told her we'd still be friends, but... If I ever saw her again, then maybe, but since I won't, I don't care. No way. No.”

  
  


“We made a vow to say in love though. True love.” Marcy's hands twisted together and it was Annie who, rather brusquely, voiced what all of the girls were thinking.

“You consummated it? You fucked?”

There was a beat of silence from the infamous Pink Ladies table before Marcy nodded.

“Yes, yes we... did.”

  
  


“I wonder what she's doing now though.” The wistful way Jean's voice lowered had all of the guys wolf whistling, and he blew them all off with a middle fingers. “Shut up, she were real pretty. Marcy, her name was. She was an angel, yeah? With this, this dark silky hair and hundred of freckles all over her body.”

“On her tits?”

Jean sneered, then thought for a moment, and nodded.

“A few.”

  
  


“So what was Mr Hot Lifeguard's name then?” Ymir asked.

“ _Jean_ ,” Marcy swooned. “He's _French_.”

Another moment of stunned silence overcame the table. It was unheard of for the Pink Ladies to be shocked speechless once, let alone twice in a single morning.

“Not...” started Amelia, but she trailed off, not wanting to upset Marcy, who she had taken a liking to.

“Not what?” inquired Marcy.

“She means, 'not Jean Kirchstein'?” Ymir said bluntly. Marcy blanched.

“Yes, that's him. How did you know? Do you know him?”

“Know him? Marcy, honey, everyone at Rose High knows Jean Kirchstein. He's the biggest playboy goin' at this school! Ain't that right, Christa?” Ymir nudged Christa in the shoulder, who winced and sighed.

“She's right, you know. But, he looked kind of subdued this morning, so, you know, maybe he really liked you.”

Marcy's eyes glowed. “What were the chances of us meeting again? I never thought we would. Could you take me to him?”

The Pink Ladies all shared a look, then turned back to Marcy.

“Weeeeell,” Sasha said, “We suppose so. But... don't say we didn't warn ya' if he ain't like you remember him. He ain't no romantic sweetheart here.”

Confused, Marcy cocked her head to the side and frowned. “What do you mean, if he ain't like I remember him?”

“Honey, here, Kirchstein's a total punk. Literally. He's a T-Bird, he goes around in his leathers, smoking and swearing at everybody. Like us, but at least we're somewhat civilised.” Ymir crossed her legs and raised an eyebrow at the nonchalant expression on Marcy's face. “What's that look for, doll?”

“Oh really, did you think he wasn't all that in the summer?” Marcy laughed, covering her mouth with her hand and tipping her head back. “Jean thought he was so cool and suave in his jacket, but honestly, he's a big softie. I'll show you. Where will he be now?”

Annie pointed towards the football pitch, where a group of lads were lounging at the top of the bleachers. From what Marcy could see, they all wore black jackets that she assumed were the infamous leather ones and were crowded around one of the boys in particular, who was lying on his back looking up at the sky. She couldn't see his face.

“There.” Amelia's arm stretched out from beside Marcy, pointing towards the boy laying down. “That's Jean, most likely. He's pretty much the ringleader.”

Now she knew who it was, it became obvious to Marcy that the boy was Jean. She knew his body, and she recognised the casual way his arm was draped over his face. He had regularly laid like that on the beach, albeit then he had been lacking a shirt.

  
  


“Hey, Bert,” Reiner threw a small stone at the tall boy sitting a few seats down from him who hadn't said a word since they had begun to interrogate Jean about his summer. “Are the Pinkies watching us? They're all looking at the bleachers.”

The boy, Bert, nodded, and spoke quietly. “I think so. They've got a new girl as well, she hasn't got a jacket on.”

Reiner puffed out his chest, and pulled Jean upright from his slumped position by the scruff of his neck, ignoring all of the protests thrown his way. “I bet they're showing her who the coolest in the school are. And the hottest. Oh hey, look, they're pointing at us! Act natural boys, 'specially you, Bert. Maybe Annie'll notice you!”

Jean scoffed and folded his arms against his chest, refusing to look over to the lunch tables.

“You just want _someone_ to notice you, Reiner.” Bert muttered. Eren leant down and gave him a high-five, dodging the hit that Reiner tried to land on his back.

“So what's the new chick look like then? She hot?” Eren asked.

His brother glanced over to the girls and hummed. “I suppose so, if you like blurry chicks in the distance. She's got dark hair though. That's all I can make out.”

Jean looked up quickly, but Eren noticed the movement.

“What, didja think it'd be your summer girl? No way, Jean, just 'cause she's got dark hair! You've got it bad.”

  
  


“I'm going over there.” Marcy stood up and brushed down her skirt, letting any crumbs fall out of the pleats onto the floor.

“Good luck,” Ymir snorted, “You'll be eaten alive.”

Marcy deemed not to answer Ymir and flounced away towards the bleachers without looking back. Ymir laid an arm around Christa's shoulder and groaned.

“Well, she's a lost cause.”

  
  


“Oh hey, hey, look, she's coming over here!”

“What, really?”

“No way!”

“Gosh, she is hot.”

“How big are her tits, wow.”

The whoops and astonished catcalls erupted into life around Jean, but he couldn't utter a word. He was speechless, just watching the girl, his _Marcy,_ approaching with a determined stride, her gorgeous black hair flowing out behind her. He had recognised her the instant he had laid eyes on her figure, intimately familiar with her curves as he was.

Both Eren and Connie noticed his silence.

“Jean, are you alright?” Connie waved a hand in front of Jean's face wildly, frowning. “Earth to Jean?”

“I think he's star-struck.” said Eren in an exaggerated whisper. Jean snapped back to reality and flipped him the bird again.

“ _It's Marcy_ , you idiots!” he yelled.

Silence fell over the bleachers. Out of the corner of his eye, Jean watched Marcy approaching. In a split second decision, he vaulted over three rows of seats at once, down to the pitch. Ignoring the yells and frantic questions from the rest of the lads, he started up into a stumbling run across the uneven surface of the grass.

He ran, oh god did he run, straight towards his beautiful Marcy. Up close, she looked so perfect, in her uniform and with her little satchel bag and Jean felt his breath hitch.

“ _Marcy?_ ” he shouted.

  
  


Marcy couldn't stop the stupid, stupid grin spreading across her face at the sight of Jean, in all his stupid leather and stupid hair-gel and his stupid sexy smile, running full pelt towards her, without a care for his friends or probably his whole reputation. He was coming for her, and he was calling her name.

“Jean?”

She started to run too, her pumps slipping around her ankles but she didn't care, because it was Jean and he was here and he was real and not a dream and she could touch him again like she thought she'd never be able to again.

  
  


“Marcy!”

  
  


“Jean...”

  
  


They stopped in front of one another, both panting hard and not saying a word, for fear of breaking the spell of their amazement. Jean reached out a tentative hand and dragged trembling fingertips down her cheek, eyes flitting from the freckles dusting them to the lip snagged between white teeth. Marcy looked deep into Jean's eyes, desperately searching for an answer in the amber that she wasn't sure of the question for.

“Marcy?” Jean whispered. “Is it really you?”

Marcy nodded, eyes tearing up. “Yes, yes, _yes_ , Jean, it's me, and you're you and... and I never thought I'd see you again.”

She placed her hand on top of Jean's, pressing it to her cheek firmly and twisted her other hand into the material of Jean's shirt, pulling him in close to her. They were nose to nose, breathing in each other's air and it was Marcy who couldn't stand the tension and pressed her lips to his, standing up a little straighter to reach him.

Jean groaned and threaded his hand through the hair at the back of Marcy's head, the silk strands soft and familiar and it was as if he had found the missing puzzle piece he'd never even realised he'd lost.

As the kiss deepened, Marcy tilting her head and pulling him in flush to her chest, the heavens opened. It started with a few drops of cold rain on the back of Jean's neck. He wrinkled his nose at the sensation, which made Marcy smile onto his lips and then he decided that he did not care one bit about the rain.

Then it was heavier, and Marcy's hair was soaked through and they were kissing in the rain on an empty football pitch and Jean tore his lips away from Marcy's.

“We are so cliché,” he murmured. Marcy rolled her eyes and Jean forgot about the rain all over again in favour of wiping the smirk off her (beautiful, heavenly) face with his tongue and lips and hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post this as its own oneshot as well. Because I want to and no-one can stop me.


	7. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has had many regrets in his life.  
> This is the list of 90 things he regrets, and 10 that he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely canon. Except for the gay.

**Jean Kirchstein's 90 Regrets from Teenagehood**

 

1; Leaving my towel on my bed before going for a shower

2; Deciding to only put on a shirt after my shower to fetch my towel

3; Not breaking Eren's nose when he laughed

4; Refusing to wear my glasses when reading notes

5; Refusing to wear my glasses when taking exams

6; Forgetting to take off my glasses after doing a resit

7; Not breaking Eren's nose for taking the piss out of my glasses

8; Eating all of Sasha's cookies

9; Hiding somewhere that Sasha could reach after eating all of her cookies

10; Calling out to Marco to bring me dinner in earshot of Sasha when hiding from Sasha

11; Not running quickly enough to evade Sasha

12; Not kissing Marco for bringing me food in the infirmary

13; Letting myself attempt to ride a horse

14; Not breaking Eren's nose for the horse face jokes

15; Allowing Marco to ride behind me when on a horse

16; Allowing Marco's arms anywhere near my waist. Especially my waistband.

17; Being distracted by said arms and not listening to Marco when on a horse

18; Not giving Marco the reins said horse is about to buck me off

19; Laughing at Marco because he looked funny upside down with grass in his hair

20; Allowing Marco to win the resulting tickle fight because he was sat on my hips and squirming around

21; Not moaning when it felt good

22; Throwing Marco off my hips to go to search for my horse

23; Not rubbing oil into 3DMG strap sores myself after a rigorous day training

24; Letting Marco do it instead when I couldn't move the next day

25; Not heeding any previous thoughts of not letting Marco near my waistband/hips ever again

26; Letting Marco take off my shirt for me because I couldn't move my shoulder properly

27; Still deciding to bunk next to Marco that night

28; Wanking over the memory of his hands next to him and still staying quiet

29; Wanking over the sound of Marco wanking

30; Not immediately cleaning the sheets

31; Not remembering that Eren was on laundry duty

32; Breaking Eren's nose anywhere near Shadis

33; Borrowing Connie's soap without telling him

34; Misjudging the distance between platform and tree and falling flat on my face

35; Speaking to Mikasa in any way ever

36; Speaking any words in Mikasa's earshot

37; Going anywhere near Mikasa

38; Thinking that Marco has the same colour hair as Mikasa and that it'd be nice to run my fingers through it

39; Offering to get that leaf out of Marco's hair

40; Ever taking my fingers out of Marco's hair

41; The fact that I even contemplated digging all of my fingers in Marco's hair

42; Pulling on Marco's hair

43; Not trying to forget the noise he made when I did so

44; Mixing my reds and whites in the washing basin

45; Wearing the resulting pink clothes anyway

46; Not breaking Eren's nose when he laughed

47; Backchatting Shadis

48; Flipping Shadis the bird

49; Flipping him the bird again when he made me scrub down the toilet block

50; Not blaming Eren, who was standing next to me

51; Going to any of Sasha's parties

52; Drinking vodka at any of Sasha's parties made by Connie

53; Drinking anything made by Connie ever

54; Drinking

55; Not hiding when the words "Truth or Dare", "Spin the Bottle" or "Seven Minutes in Heaven" were ever mentioned

56; Offering to go first in Spin the Bottle

57; Not refusing to snog Eren

58; Moaning when Eren did that thing with his tongue because he never let me live it down

59; Thinking about Marco during the kiss then pretending that I hadn't

60; Letting the game carry on

61; Watching Marco snog Christa

62; Looking Marco in the eye whilst he kissed her

63; Not grabbing his hand and running whilst I still could walk in a vaguely straight line

64; Waiting a whole month to tell Marco that I was really fucking jealous of Christa for being able to snog him and that was why I was being a dick to her

65; Explaining that to Christa first

66; Making that stupid little moan again when Marco kissed me

67; Not managing to kiss every freckle

68; Going to the dorms before everyone had gone to sleep

69; Not just moving somewhere else when Connie tried to interrupt and stop us

70; Forgetting that Shadis did midnight rounds of the dorms

71; Flipping Shadis the bird again when I had to clean more toilets than Marco and he was the one in my bed

72; Not ducking before Marco hit me

73; Not getting further than a round of mutual blow jobs with Marco before the end of training

74; Not breaking Eren's nose when he ranked higher than me in the Top 10

75; Not managing to snog Marco for more than 4 minutes and 48 seconds

76; Actually paying my bet loss to Connie that I could in fact snog someone for more than 5 minutes straight

77; Eating too much at the end of training midnight feast

78; Not making it to the toilet on time

79; Not kissing Marco that morning regardless of morning breath

80; Letting him out of my sight for a moment when the Titans attacked

81; Not hugging Marco goodbye when we had to separate

82; Not kissing him goodbye

83; Allowing him to go without me

84; Not checking in with him during the battle

85; Not getting to him in time

86; Not knowing what Titan killed him

87; Never getting my revenge against it (and never being able to know if I did kill it later on. Or if someone else got there first)

88; Not being able to tell which bones were his

89; Not being able to find his jacket to take with me

90; Never telling him that I loved him

 

**10 things from Teenagehood that Jean Kirchstein would never regret**

 

1; Joining the army

2; Bunking next to Marco

3; Building that pillow fort

4; Breaking Eren's nose at least 50 times

5; Kissing Marco

6; Finding every freckle

7; Getting into the top 10

8; Partying with the 104th

9; Finding my soulmate

10; Avenging him in the Survey Corps  


End file.
